Astoria Greengrass and the Cursed Blood
by nothernspaces
Summary: When Astoria Greengrass, daughter of the editor of The Daily Prophet, begins Hogwarts, she comes to terms with life outside of the sickbed her mother confined her to for twelve years, the muggle prejudice her family brought her up alongside, the mystery of her ancestor Antigone, and trying to fit into Slytherin house, where she feels she will never belong.


" _The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink."_

― _T.S. Eliot_

 **Chapter One: Two Gentlemen of Verona**

It was a dark, wintery night at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The stone corridors were frozen cold, and the prefects who were on duty this particular night wore mittens and woolen caps, although it did little to relinquish the chill. It seemed even the ghosts had retired for the night, wishing to spend their endless limbo within their respective common rooms, where, even if they could not really feel the cold, at least their surroundings looked cozier, and this made them feel more human. Not even the Bloody Baron roamed the baltic corridors of Hogwarts that night.

The man who appeared with a loud crack on the sixth floor wore a long green cloak with a silver clasp, and underneath his robes were done up so tightly around his neck it looked like he might collapse at any moment from lack of blood to the brain. Underneath a matching green hat, his hair was peppered prematurely with grey hair, which was slicked back in an odd fashion. Lines nestled angrily between his eyebrows, a consequence of years of squinting at small newspaper print by candlelight, giving the appearance of a constant scowl. All this, coupled with expensive dragonhide gloves, which at that moment curled around a very glossy looking briefcase, gave the impression that this man was not one to be crossed.

This man was Cassius Greengrass.

He hurried down the sixth floor corridor, heeled boots clicking and setting an anxious tempo to the air of stress that clouded round him, before shaking his head and doubling back on himself. Mr. Greengrass silently chided himself for forgetting where the headmaster's office was – Merlin knew he had visited it too many times already over the years. The old man who resided inside was insufferable. This however, would be the first of their meetings that Cassius had insisted upon himself.

His thoughts drifted to the child he had left tucked in her sickbed, and the headline of tomorrow morn's paper. In the newsroom that buffoon Zachary Baharov would be trying to convince his co-workers that the participation of the wizarding community in the Rwandan civil war simply must be made the _Prophet's_ main priority. The man was always meddling with muggle affairs or trying to stick that great lumpy nose of his into another wizard's business. Mr. Greengrass made a mental note to pull Baharov into his office that night for a real talking to – a man with a wandering mind like that was not only foolish, but downright dangerous at times.

Before he even realized he had given the password to that ruddy belligerent gargoyle, Mr. Greengrass had reached the top of the spiral staircase, back aching irritatingly (which he reasoned was the chill in the air). That often happened to the man, where thoughts of work and people he had to chastise and articles he had to approve carried him all the way through his day. Sometimes he would have a full conversation with Mrs. Greengrass whilst worrying over a recent dip in newspaper sales, and afterwards realized he didn't remember at all what he or his wife had been talking about.

Each time he came to speak with the headmaster, Mr. Greengrass paused at the door, making sure his robes were neat and his back was straight, and each time Dumbledore still made him feel like a fool fighting against a great current. The old man always had a highly infuriating little glint in his eye that promised he knew more than Cassius could ever hope to know. During his days as student at Hogwarts, before he realized what an old fool the wizard was, it had inspired him. Now, as an established man within the wizarding community, who had been on the _other_ side during the war, it infuriated him.

Mr. Greengrass pushed open the door to the study with staged confidence, and as usual he laid his eyes upon the man pacing up and down the length of the room. The muscles in his jaw rippled under his pale skin as he clenched his jaw, observing the man, who even the mere sight of made him feel a certain angry way. When he grew tired of waiting for the headmaster to stop pacing towards the opposite wall, he cleared his throat obnoxiously.

The old man turned around, not at all surprised by the sudden interruption. He had clearly been anticipating Mr. Greengrass' visit, and his eyes met the other man's with wizened grace, which to Mr. Greengrass looked like insolence.

"Cassius." He greeted the other man with a polite smile.

"Dumbledore." Mr. Greengrass said shortly with a small nod.

"I'm glad you could make it tonight, what with the flying dustbins in Cornwall. That will make for an interesting read in the _Prophet_ tomorrow, no doubt."

Just like that Dumbledore had given Mr. Greengrass the lead story for the news floor that night.

"No doubt." Cassius affirmed coolly, hiding his annoyance.

The two wizards held each other's stare for a moment, before taking their seats at either side of the ornate oak desk that had served as their verbal dueling ground so many times. Mr. Greengrass fiddled with his important looking briefcase, determined for his expensive dragon hide gloves to catch Dumbledore's eyes.

Mr. Greengrass did not want to be the first to speak, however Zachary Baharov spreading his conspiracy theory that the Minister of Magic had really planted a furry looking house elf posed as a werewolf to distract from to the price of the Galleon dropping crossed his mind and he began to divulge the matter of their meeting.

"I just came from St. Mungo's. I am afraid Astoria is staying there for the foreseeable future. She has gone just a bit paler than usual and they are afraid her blood is thinning." He lied, voice more strained than he would have liked. "I am sure she will get over it soon enough, however the healers are trying to tell my wife and I that if she gets so much as a paper cut they will not be able to staunch the blood flow."

Dumbledore looked concerned, which angered Mr. Greengrass further. "Cursed blood. It's a shame a little girl must suffer from the ill choices of her ancestor."

A strange feeling of guilt that pestered him about once every two years prodded at Mr. Greengrass for a moment. It was his side that carried the cursed gene, as Mrs. Greengrass often reminded him.

"Yes well, there is not much we can do about that now." Cassius replied offhandedly. "The point is that I wish to discuss Astoria's schooling. As it stands, the healers are not making us very hopeful that she will recover from this bout of sickness anytime soon."

"This must be a very difficult time for your family, Cassius." Dumbledore acknowledged. "I'll see the head of Slytherin provides some support for Daphne this term."

This made Mr. Greengrass snort. "I'm not sure there are many comforting words that Severus Snape can offer _my_ daughter, and in any case I doubt she will need them. Daphne has always been the stronger of the two."

"I'm sure." Dumbledore smiled politely again. "There are, however, several more months left until September in which I am sure Astoria will make a full recovery. She has already missed her chance to start her schooling at the proper age, and if she does not enroll next year I'm afraid she will be much older than her peers."

"I am aware of that." Mr. Greengrass replied quickly. "My wife is eager to enquire at the Wizarding Home Education Standards Office at the Ministry."

Dumbledore nodded. "I would remind you that the Wizarding Home Education Standards Office is only concerned with children's circumstances deemed exceptional."

"Of course my daughter's circumstances are exceptional!" Mr. Greengrass' voice had risen and cheeks had reddened. "She has a very serious affliction!"

"I am aware her case is unique." The headmaster agreed calmly. "However I have consulted many professionals who assure me that the effects of such a curse only become debilitating farther on in life. I have heard your daughter is eager to learn and very bright for her age."

"I do not give a damn what _your_ consultants say, Dumbledore." Mr. Greengrass said with venom, ignoring the compliments he had bestowed upon his daughter. He would wonder later who had been spreading rumours at the office. "I can assure you that my daughter is very ill."

Mr. Greengrass had lost his patience but Dumbledore remained calm, consulting what looked like a rather interesting spyglass. His long, spindly fingers traced along the runes and the silver of his several rings shone brilliantly in the moonlight.

"It seems your mind is set that Astoria will not be coming to Hogwarts next year." He stated diplomatically, still consulting the strange looking spyglass, which Mr. Greengrass eyed with increasing suspicion. "I will have to ask for an extensive letter from a senior member of staff at the Magical Bugs and Diseases ward, addressed to Madame Pomfrey. Also, a letter from Vincent Vargoyle at the Wizarding Home Education Standards Office."

At this, Mr. Greengrass puffed out his chest, feeling victorious. "I am sure that wont be a problem." He drawled smugly. He had shared a dorm with Vincent Vargoyle during his time at Hogwarts, and he owed Cassius a great favor for helping him through his trials after the war.

"I would however like to remind you," Dumbledore began, his calm demeanor shifting to something sterner, darker. "That in recent years I have became very aware of how both you and Vincent managed to escape punishment for your crimes during the war. It would take little effort for me to write a letter to Cornelius Fudge urging him to investigate the memory of your wife's wand, which if I remember correctly was overlooked during your trial."

Mr. Greengrass' eyes widened considerably at the mention of Mrs. Greengrass, and for a moment he looked like a bewildered barn owl. Maintaining a more neutral expression, he asked, "Where did you get this information? Have you got spies after me now? Working at the _Prophet_? I always knew you wanted my position for yourself, old man."

"Do not be a fool, Cassius." Dumbledore cautioned. "I am not spying on you or the _Prophet_ , however much I disagree with the lies you spread in it."

Mr. Greengrass seemed to believe the wizard, but narrowed his eyes at him skeptically all the same.

"It would appear your eldest daughter has rather loose lips when she believes she is in the company of friends. I would suggest she does not make it a habit to reveal many more family secrets near the portrait of Phineas Nigellus in the Slytherin common room. Professor Black likes to visit there from time to time, and he is a notorious gossip, especially in matters concerning the Dark Arts."

Dumbledore gestured towards the empty portrait behind him, and for a horrific moment Mr. Greengrass forgot that the Black family home, where the other portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black was hung, lay deserted, willed to an insane man locked up in Azkaban. He was glad no one lived in the house, free to spread information to members of wizarding society of which he now rubbed shoulders with.

He could still remember how foreign his wife's wand had felt in his hand as he tortured little Angus McKinnon.

"Are you threatening me, old man?"

This made Dumbledore smile. "I suppose I am, Cassius."

"Why?"

Mr. Greengrass' question made the wizard in front of him pause for thought. Just as he was about to grow too impatient to wait for his answer, Dumbledore replied, "As headmaster of this school, I would like to remind you that an education at Hogwarts is encouraged, not only for magical necessity, but for wizarding children to gain independence and experience during their time with us."

Mr. Greengrass inhaled deeply and let out a frustrated sigh. Whilst his daughter really was checked in at St. Mungo's, the healers had advised him that Astoria was perfectly able to attend school next year, considering she would be under the care of Poppy Pomfrey. Dumbledore also knew, even if merely by intuition, that Mrs. Greengrass was adamant that Astoria would not attend Hogwarts, for fear that she might never return.

Even though Mr. Greengrass did not share his wife's maternal worries, and found her incessant doting on the child grating, Harmonia Greengrass was still a Selwyn at heart, hardheaded and covetous of her own way.

"I will speak to Harmonia."

"Of course." Dumbledore nodded. "Tell her not to fret; I will ensure every effort is made to see that Astoria has a comfortable first year here at Hogwarts."

At this, Mr. Greengrass nodded, feeling there was not much left for him to say. He would go home to Rotten Row Manor unsuccessful, and no doubt spent another night banished to the west wing to stare at the canopy of an unfamiliar bed. He picked his suitcase up from the desk, forgetting to show off his gloves, and headed back towards the spiral staircase.

Suddenly, he remembered the attack. How could he have forgotten?

He turned back around with newly found smarm. "Floating dustbins in Cornwall will be on page ten of the _Prophet_ tomorrow morning, Dumbledore." He told the headmaster. "I almost forgot about yesterday's attack against a _mudblood_ under your watch. The headline at breakfast will be about the Chamber of Secrets."

He swiftly exited the headmaster's office, not giving himself enough time to savor what he deemed a victory – even in it was incredibly small.

On reflection, it had been a stupid, foolhardy thing to do. Dumbledore could have both him and his wife stripped of their money and reputation and chucked in Azkaban as quick as you could say basilisk, but Cassius Greengrass would take any opportunity to have the last word in the situation, to get the upper hand. That was just the type of man he was.

He apparated to the newsroom just as the clock struck midnight and the building in central London turned into a chaotic frenzy of overworked and underpaid witches and wizards. He thought about the Chamber of Secrets from the very moment he began working until the very moment his head hit the pillow in one of the guest rooms in the west wing. He had even though about it whilst he argued with a tearful Mrs. Greengrass about what had transpired in Dumbledore's office. Not even then did his mind drift from the Chamber.

Not once did he think about Astoria.


End file.
